The Sunday Girls (2 page)

I looked over at Mum but she didn’t appear to see me or hear me. Her pain was obviously so intense that it obliterated her surroundings.

Dad turned back and placed an arm around her shoulders. ‘It won’t be long now, Lily,’ he said, a broad smile lighting up his face which was still handsome in spite of his unshaven, stubbled look.

Outside, the neighbours had disappeared from the stair landing. Now that Lily had the expertise of the two women, they knew that to linger in the dismal lobby was a waste of fresh air and sunshine. As we passed out of the close and into the street, they were sitting on a motley collection of tatty old kitchen chairs placed strategically to catch the maximum amount of sunlight.

Dad went to join a group of men who were lounging around a shop doorway. Like him, they were all jobless. Each face held a mask of weary despair, their shoulders slumped in a downcast manner – postures that were witness to their helpless resignation of years with no work.

Although none of the men were members of the Communist Party, they all supported the National Unemployment Workers Movement and a few of them had even been on the Hunger Marches to London to protest about unemployment and the dire living conditions – conditions that were met with cruel callousness from a government that was blind and deaf to their pleas for help.

‘Aye, you’ll soon have another mouth to feed, Johnny,’ said old Joe who was one of Dad’s oldest friends. Although only in his early sixties, he looked much older. His thin face was so wrinkled that the deep furrows resembled tramlines. He had been badly injured in the Great War and had spent a long time in hospital afterwards with shrapnel wounds. The legacy of pain from that time was still etched on his face but, on good days like today, he often said he felt better.

He turned a quizzical eye to his friend. ‘How do you think you’ll manage now?’

Dad merely shrugged his shoulders and shook his head wordlessly.

Joe turned to the group of men with an angry gesture. ‘You know, apart from Will and Jimmy …’ He pointed a thin, yellow, nicotine-stained finger in the direction of two skinny youths who regularly hung out with the older men. The two lads had suffered from rickets in their childhood and they had the bow-legged look that was one of the symptoms of this disease caused by the deficiency of vitamin D. ‘Apart from them, most of us fought in the war and we remember when half of our comrades were killed at Neuve Chapelle and Loos.’

The men nodded, their eyes clouding over at the memory of that carnage.

‘Aye, a lot of my mates died in that battle and a lot more never came home from the other trenches,’ said Dad.

Joe was now on his soapbox, an expression his pals used when faced by his outbursts. ‘Aye, half of the Black Watch wiped out and what were the survivors promised? We were promised a land fit for heroes and what do we end up with? A land with no work or money to buy bread and margarine, never mind bloody milk and honey.’

He opened a small tin that held a collection of cigarette stubs. Deftly extricating the golden strands of tobacco from a few of the stubs, he placed them on a thin cigarette paper which he then rolled in his gnarled hands. He handed the new cigarette to Dad. ‘Here – have a smoke on me. In the Yankee pictures you see at the cinema, cigars are aye handed out when a baby is born but I’ve no cigars so you’ll just have to take this home-made effort – a cross between a Wild Woodbine and a Capstan with a wee touch of Players thrown in.’

I leant against the wall, watching Dad’s worried face. Across the road, up a side alley, I saw an iron-railed veranda, its entire length filled with chattering women and whining children. In the midst of all this noisy humanity I felt so alone and forlorn, worried sick about Mum and wishing Danny were here. He was not only my cousin but my best friend.

I gazed in dismay at my brown sun-tanned legs and arms. How I longed to look like Danny with his lovely clear skin, deep blue eyes and auburn hair. I was lumbered with a cap of black hair cut short in an Eton crop, which I hated, and my eyes were dark brown. His mother Hattie was Dad’s sister. Although he had inherited his good looks from his maternal side, his colouring was almost identical to that of Pat Ryan, his Irish father, now long dead.

Just the very thought of him filled me with pleasure. Although only a few months older than me, he was already a good three inches taller – a fact that my parents had noticed. ‘Aye he’s going to be a good-looking six-footer one day,’ they had said barely a week ago.

I closed my eyes, letting the warm sun shine over me as the multitude of voices merged in the background like the humming buzz from a swarm of bees.

‘Hello, Ann – so I’ve caught you sleeping,’ said a familiar voice rising above the hum.

It was Danny and I watched as he effortlessly ran towards me, the sun shining on his hair, highlighting deep golden streaks that intertwined with the deep red. Looking at him through half opened eyes it seemed as if his hair was on fire. In spite of my worry, I laughed, thinking what a coincidence his appearance was. I had just finished reading a book about Aladdin and his magic lamp and, as he approached, I made a rubbing movement with my hands.

‘What are you doing?’ He had a puzzled frown on his boyish face.

‘I’m rubbing my magic lamp. I made a wish for you to be here and here you are. It must be the genie’s work.’

‘Who’s Jeannie? Is she a pal?’ His puzzled frown deepened.

‘No, Danny, it’s just a story I’ve been reading. I’ll tell you about it sometime.’ I moved over to make a space for him. ‘You’ve heard that Mum’s baby is coming? Mrs Grey and Granny Neill are with her now so we’re just waiting on news,’ I said as I pointed over to where Dad was still standing with his clutch of cronies. His apprehensive face never strayed from our close.

Danny gave him a wave. ‘Aye, I’ve heard. Rosie was telling everybody at the Overgate.’

Rosie’s mother was Alice, Granny’s next-door neighbour and adjoining window confidante. A year or two younger than my parents, Rosie was unmarried and a staunch member of the Salvation Army.

‘She was just back from the Citadel when I met her and she gave me the message.’

He extricated a small bag of squashed-up, sticky sweets from his pocket and pushed it under my nose. Choosing one sweet from this gooey mass took all the expertise of a master demolition worker and the one I eventually picked was so large that it made speaking almost impossible.

‘It’s funny about your mum, Ann …’ He stopped when he saw my puzzled look but still chewed noisily on his sweet, wiping dribbles from his chin with a thin hand. ‘As I was saying, it’s funny about your mum having the baby early. Mrs Pringle – the woman Mum works for in the Perth Road – well, she was taken in to the Forthill nursing home this morning to have her baby and she’s early as well. In fact, the new nursery is not finished yet but Mum has been running around trying to put the finishing touches to it today.’

He gave his sweet a final loud crunch and sat back with a sigh. ‘What a pity your mum doesn’t have a new nursery as well.’

I nodded sadly as I visualised our tiny flat in my mind’s eye. My parents had the big double bed in the corner of the room while I had the tiny recessed bed in the closet with its flowery cotton curtained screen. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t imagine where the newcomer could possibly sleep.

‘Mrs Pringle has an older daughter – is that right?’ I asked, trying to block out the depressing image of our cramped living conditions.

Danny nodded. ‘That’s right. Her name is Maddie and, although she’s the same age as us, she’s still at the school. She’s a pupil at the Harris Academy – not one of the tuppenny-ha’penny schools like we went to.’

I wondered aloud if Maddie was perhaps sitting in the sun like us, waiting for news of the forthcoming birth.

Danny said no. She was on holiday with her aunt in Tayport. His mention of school brought the problems I’d had since leaving a few months ago to the surface.

‘I’ve been looking for a job for weeks but there’s nothing. With Dad not working and now another mouth to feed, things are getting harder. Still maybe something will turn up.’ I sounded doubtful and I suddenly realised that my hopeless tone matched exactly the desolate conversation of the men.

They were normally hard-working men but now young and old alike had been thrown on to the scrapheap of high unemployment and they were angrily discussing the plans for the forthcoming means test. The test was said to be like an inquisition and even those with very little money were to be subjected to investigation. An obvious lack of money didn’t stop officials from poking their noses into people’s lives. Those sent round to people’s homes to examine their circumstances often didn’t believe them when they claimed to be penniless and would assume they must be hiding a secret source of income – often supposing they were not declaring wages brought into the household by a son or daughter.

‘You’ll not get any money from the dole office,’ said Joe, who seemed to know quite a lot about the coming legislation. ‘If you’ve any money saved up or maybe have a member of your family working or even a lodger, then you’ll get sweet Fanny Adams.’

The men laughed bitterly. ‘Well, that lets us off the hook then. None of us have any savings.’

‘There’s no money in our socks or under the bed,’ said Dad, ‘but I wish we had.’

I turned to Danny. ‘What kind of a job would you like?’ I made it sound as if jobs were ten a penny.

He hesitated. ‘I don’t really care as long as I was earning a wage but I would like to see other parts of the world. Still, I suppose I never will. What would you like to do, Ann?’

Being such a lover of books, there was no doubt in my mind. ‘A job in the library – now that would be a dream come true but, like you, Danny, I don’t suppose it’ll ever happen.’

Suddenly Granny appeared, her face flushed deep red with beads of perspiration visible on her upper lip. She quickly wiped her face with a cloth as she walked towards the men.

‘You’ve got another wee lass, Johnny. Lily’s fine and she wants to see you.’ Her flustered glance swept over Danny and me. ‘You can see your mum as well, Ann.’ And, with these dramatic words, she waddled back up the close.

Dad threw down the butt of his cigarette and stamped it out with the heel of his tackety boot.

The men slapped him on the back. ‘Well, you’ll be glad that’s it over now and another wee lass as a sister to Ann.’ Their faces all turned towards me and although their voices were cheerful, each man had a shadow of sadness in his eyes. Yes and another mouth to feed, they said silently.

Bunty Grey was busy with her bag when I entered. To my immense relief, whatever paraphernalia involved in childbirth was now all out of sight – except for the kettle which was still simmering on the stove.

Mum’s face was as white as the sheet but she was propped up against the ugly wooden headboard, two thin pillows at her back and a cup of tea in her thin hands. A mewing sound came from the small bundle that lay in the drawer on the floor – my new sister.

Dad went straight over to the bed and sat gingerly on the bright crocheted cover that was now placed over the sheet. Bunty pulled aside the small blanket to let me see the baby’s face. As if she knew she had an audience, the wailing sound stopped and I saw her lovely little face with such a pretty rosebud mouth.

‘We’re going to call her Lily, after her mum,’ said Dad proudly. Moving from the bed to gaze at his new daughter, he added, ‘She’s just like a wee flower – like her mother.’

Bunty Grey snapped her bag shut. ‘She’s no’ that wee – she’s a strapping eight pounds and a Sunday girl.’ She bent over the baby and crooned in a soothing, sing-song kind of intonation. ‘The baby that’s born on the Sabbath day, is blithe and bonny and good and gay.’

Mum smiled weakly but Dad laughed. ‘Well, that makes it two Sunday girls because Ann was a Sabbath day baby too.’

Meanwhile, Rita and Nellie had heard the good news and they stood outside on the landing, chatting to Danny who obviously felt ill at ease in this women-orientated world.

As soon as the midwife left they came in. I was sent to make another pot of tea while they gathered around the bed. ‘Imagine such a big baby, Lily,’ they said in unison as they flitted between the bed and the baby. ‘And you almost a month early. Heavens, what size would she have been if you had gone the full term?’

After I’d done my hostess turn with the teapot, Danny and I sat on the stairs as the tiny room was cramped and overflowing with the grown-ups.

Granny’s voice wafted out to us as she bustled around the room like a clucking hen. ‘Ann can sleep at the Overgate tonight – just to give you two a bit of time to yourselves.’

Danny chuckled. ‘Looks like a tight squash because I’m supposed to be staying with Granny tonight as well. Mum wasn’t sure when she would get back from the Perth Road. In fact, Granny was saying that she spends more time there than she does in the house but I don’t mind.’

Although Hattie had a nice flat in the Westport, it was a well-known fact that she spent so little time in it.

‘Anyway,’ said Danny, with a grin, ‘I’ve got loads of relations in Lochee. I can aye stay there.’

Danny’s father, the late Pat Ryan, had three sisters who were all married and, as well as them, there were Dad and Ma Ryan, his grandparents. They all lived in Atholl Street – an Irish community in Lochee. Nicknamed Tipperary, it housed hundreds of families. The people were descended from the influx of immigrants who had left Ireland at the turn of the century to work in the city’s many jute mills. These families were housed in similar conditions to ourselves and a thousand light years away from people like Mr and Mrs Pringle.

By now, Danny and I had moved out into the street. Lengthening shadows, heralding the approach of night, patterned the dusty pavements but it was still hot and golden. Groups of children still played noisily, scampering around in the pursuit of their many games. Muffled voices from people still sitting in the sun washed over us like waves on the shore. Cooking smells wafted down from the multitude of open doors, making us both feel very hungry.